


You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

by waywardrose



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Detectives, Dirty Talk, Do not post to another site, Estrangement, F/M, Married Couple, Period-Typical Sexism, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: …you balanced your mother’s big Tupperware container filled with homemade Samoas cookies. They were Flip’s favorite, and he detested sharing them. But he would have to—because you were famous around the station for your cookies.You hoped he only got one. It would serve him right.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Kudos: 68





	You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: God all I want is to walk into the police station in tight ass bell bottoms, platforms and a cute shirt and somehow You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet is playing and just .. unintentionally (intentionally) give Flip the best show of his life
> 
> WR: I can see it. 😳 I am looking. 😍 Flip's gonna combust. I cannot wait. (Also, I didn't set this at the station. I hope you'll forgive me. 😉)

Bicentennial bunting fluttered from the park's biggest shelter. The crowd under the shelter milled about the picnic tables, laughing and snacking. A portable radio was in there somewhere and tuned to a local rock station. Burgers and hot dogs sizzled on the built-in grills.

You towed a cooler loaded with ice, beer, and pop with one hand. In the other, you balanced your mother's big Tupperware container filled with homemade Samoas cookies. They were Flip's favorite, and he detested sharing them. But he would have to—because you were famous around the station for your cookies.

You hoped he only got one. It would serve him right.

Just like seeing you in your new top and bell-bottomed jeans.

A pack of howling kids darted in front of you, Uncle Sam masks in place and American flags waving. One kid tipped their paper top hat to you. You nodded back, of course. Their noise attracted attention from the shelter, and someone called your name.

You looked up and smiled. "Hey!"

Jimmy jogged to you, an open bottle of Pabst in his hand. "The _preeminent_ Detective Zimmerman has finally arrived!" he declared and took the cooler's handle from you. "How you been, babe?"

You thanked him for unburdening you before you said, "I've been just fine."

"Yeah?" There was a teasing quality to his voice as he asked, "How's your mom's couch?"

You grinned. "Her guest room is very comfortable, thanks."

He hummed like he didn't quite believe you and led the way to the shelter. The second he stepped in the shade, he told everyone to welcome the straggler. A round of cheers went up. Then you announced you'd brought cookies, and the cheers became delighted whoops.

Surprisingly, those closest waited until you peeled the lid off the container before descending upon the innocent cookies. There was a little stab of disappointment when Flip wasn't one of the cookie-hungry vultures.

Patrice came up on your left and traded you a Coke for the container, and you thanked her.

"We're taking over Horseshoes when this round's over," she said as she took a cookie and set the container down. "Wanna join?"

"Sure! Who's 'we'?"

She listed off a handful of women—secretaries and significant others—before taking a bite of cookie.

She groaned, putting a hand on your arm. "Whoa, oh my God! Flip wasn't joking when he said these are addictive."

Your stomach swooped at that. You didn't know Flip had ever discussed your baking. That was... _cute._ However, you couldn't let that fact dissuade you from your mission.

You cracked open your Coke and replied, "Secret's in salting the caramel."

She made an interested sound. "Can I get the recipe?"

"Of course! I'll call you tomorrow."

The clank of a horseshoe hitting a metal stake punctuated your sentence. Patrice smiled and tilted her head towards the Horseshoes pit a few yards behind the shelter. With a nod, you followed her through the shelter to where a group of women stood to the side.

Your stomach swooped again when you saw your husband playing Horseshoes with a few other officers—one of them being Ron. Flip wore a Buffalo Bills t-shirt that hugged his built body, a pack of cigarettes rolled in one sleeve. Heat suffused your cheeks. Why did he have to be so handsome? You looked away and took a sip of soda.

You kept yourself occupied by greeting the women as the officers finished their game. Your favorite secretary, Linda, hugged you when she saw you. No one mentioned the rift between you and Flip, but it was conspicuous in its absence. You knew everyone knew.

When the officers' game wrapped up, Flip turned to the shelter. Though it wouldn't have registered with anyone else, he paused a second when he saw you. Instantly, a jittery feeling started in your gut.

Your eyes met, and you raised your Coke in salute.

You hadn't seen him in three weeks, hadn't heard from him in all that time. You could admit you missed him, but you were still pissed. And until he apologized, you would remain so.

As he passed beside you, he bowed his head and murmured your name.

Ron gave you a look as he trailed behind Flip. It wasn't an admonishment, nor was it a plea. There was sympathy. He, of all people, understood your anger. 

Regardless, you grinned at Ron and stepped into the late afternoon sunshine. It warmed your hair and shoulders. You took a deep breath, ignoring that jittery feeling. Eyes on the prize and all that. There was a reason you'd come to this barbecue and not the one your parents were attending.

It was decided to split the women's group into two teams for Horseshoes. You cheered on your teammates and helped them distract the other team. When it was your turn to toss, you bent and arched your back as you aimed. You silently dared Flip to watch you. Let him look at your ass in these tight jeans. Let him miss it bouncing on his lap.

After your tosses, both of them good, you strutted to retrieve the horseshoes. As you bent, one of the ladies wolf-whistled. It was probably Linda, who happened to be on the other team. You laughed, offering a little shimmy. When you turned, you glanced at the shelter to see Flip leaning on a support, cigarette between his lips. Even from this distance, it was easy to discern his tight expression.

If you'd seen that look last month, you would've expected him to flick the cigarette away and come for you. He would've cradled your face and kissed you hard. You imagined feeling the heat from his body through his t-shirt, his tongue sweeping over yours, his goatee prickling your skin.

Now he just stared.

Which was fine. Him staring was the point. You hoped he suffered with lust.

You handed the horseshoes to the next player and helped keep score, turning a blind eye to the shelter. Though Flip's gaze tingled as if it could touch you. Every now and again, you caught the whiff of his Marlboro Reds.

The other team hit 200 points before yours did, unfortunately, and you groaned. A rematch was promised before heading for the food line. You pointedly did _not_ look at Flip as you threw your empty Coke can in the garbage.

As you waited for a cheeseburger, a very, very familiar presence cut in line directly behind you. You peeked over your shoulder to see Flip. _Of course._

You sniffed with derision and lied, "You stink of cigarettes."

"What do you want to drink?" he asked, voice low.

You froze for a moment, because he was ignoring your jab. The jerk. "Coors, if there's any left."

"If not?"

"I'm sure you can find one for me."

Mulaney manned the burger grill. He grinned as he greeted you. He told you with a wink he was giving you the best patty of the batch.

"Thank you, Clay," you said with a smile, all the while feeling Flip fume.

The burger really was perfect, and you topped it how you usually did. Next to the toppings and condiments was a spread of side-dishes. You took scoops of homemade potato salad and baked beans, and a half-ear of grilled corn.

Ron waved you over and pointed to the two spots across the table he'd saved. You wouldn't ignore him, though you suspected he was trying to facilitate a reconciliation. It was probably more for Flip's benefit than yours. As you made your way to him, you wondered if Flip was making him miserable. You knew how Flip got: sulky and acerbic between long bouts of heavy silence.

That poor man.

You sat across from Ron, thanking him for saving you a seat. Flip stepped beside you and requested you move down.

You looked up at him. "Why don't you sit next to Ron?"

"That's for Patrice."

"That's an assumption."

Ron interjected, "Flip, you can sit by me."

Without glancing away from you, he said, "I want to sit next to my wife."

You sighed, though you did still like him calling you his wife, and scooted down the bench. He slid alongside you, close enough to press his thigh against yours. While you could complain or inch away, you wouldn't. You didn't mind his touch. Quite the opposite, actually. It seemed more like months than weeks since you'd last been this close.

He popped the cap off one of the beers and set it by your plate. Coors. You could hardly believe he'd found one. The other one was a Miller—a brand he called a bland imitation. On the other hand, you didn't mind.

You frowned and pushed the Coors in front of his plate. "Gimme the Miller."

"You wanted Coors."

"But _you_ prefer Coors."

Flip winced just as Patrice set her plate down in the empty spot next to Ron, who happened to be as serene as a buddha. You stole the Miller from Flip before greeting her.

Flip remained subdued throughout the meal, only adding the minimum to the conversation. He did laugh when Ron recounted the latest time his mic wire short-circuited. His laugh was a beautiful sound. Your chest tightened when you saw his cheeks ruddy and shoulders shaking with mirth.

After an impromptu speech from the chief, Jimmy came over to invite everyone to join the volleyball game starting in ten minutes. Flip bowed out and looked to you with a request in his eyes. Nothing could be settled if you two didn't discuss it, right?

You gave an excuse that no one questioned. Patrice, Ron, and Jimmy collectively offered to clean the table. You tried to help, but their hands worked faster than yours.

When they were gone, you sat with nothing to occupy yourself.

"Want another beer?" Flip asked.

"Yes, please."

He returned with two cans of Stroh's, opening them both and handing you one. You murmured, _"Thanks,"_ and took a sip. He sat beside you as most of the crowd ambled to the volleyball court. His knee knocked into yours. You didn't mind.

It was quiet for a minute before he said, "So..."

"So."

"How's Vice?"

"You know." You shrugged. "Mind-numbing boredom and interrupted by sheer panic."

"And then paperwork. The usual."

You shared a grin.

"Yup, the usual."

"How's that asshole, Mohler?"

Your eyebrows shot up at the question, though it wasn't really much of a shock. Flip must've been keeping tabs on the Mohler case. However, in the three weeks since you left, he hadn't heard any of the inside developments.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Mohler isn't pressing charges for assault against you."

"Yeah, I knew that."

"You're damn lucky."

"He's damn lucky I didn't kill him."

You sighed and took a long drink of beer. "You can't do that."

His silence didn't feel like an agreement.

"Perps say shitty things all the time."

You looked at him to see his jaw flexing and lips tight.

You continued, "You know, no one expected me to come back to work after the honeymoon."

Flip sharply turned his head. "What?"

"They thought I'd hand in my letter before the wedding."

"What, _why?"_

"Because that's what girls do: they marry and start pushing out babies." You let out a humorless laugh and leaned your elbows on the table. "Or you'd want me working at some safe office-job downtown. Fetching coffee for the boss and laughing off getting my ass pinched."

"I don't—"

You cut him off: "You don't know what it's like."

"I know..."

"I can handle assholes like _Carl Mohler_ trying to provoke me. He said that shit after being Mirandized, anyway. It's all admissible in court."

He muttered, "I wasn't thinking straight."

"I get it, but you should've let him continue." You wet your bottom lip as Flip guzzled beer. "He was getting sloppy."

He put a fist to his mouth to muffle a burp. "It's not like I think you're weak, alright?" He unrolled the cigarette pack from his sleeve. "But he..." He sighed. "I just lost my head."

You put a hand over the pack; it was three-quarters empty. "Haven't you smoked enough for the day?"

"It's the only thing keeping me—"

"Keeping you...?"

He shook his head. "It keeps me occupied."

You met his gaze, finding wary yearning. You didn't think you looked much different. You don't want to hide it from him, either.

"I miss you," he softly said.

"I miss you, too."

"Come home."

You withdrew your hand. "You can't treat me like your wife at the station."

"Then how the fuck am I supposed to treat you? Everyone knows we're married."

"Well, first off, you don't have to defend my honor or whatever."

"But he threatened—"

"I know what he threatened!" You leaned in. "The implication is that he has the resources—which, _again,_ is now admissible in court."

Flip ran a hand through his hair. _"Fuck."_

You knocked back your beer instead of saying something along the lines of 'I wish you would.' Because, God, did you ever. You'd rather just fuck it out than have this rift.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just reacted." His empty hand turned into a fist. "You know I'm not like that, but, uh..."

"I'm your wife?" you offered as you set aside the can.

"You are, and I..." He shook his head. "I can't keep my cool when it comes to you."

You grinned and reached for his hand. "You don't even know how many kneecaps I've wanted to break."

"In defending my honor?" he teased and laced his fingers with yours.

"Well," you began and moved closer. "I did make an honest man out of you, didn't I?"

His gaze lingered on your lips as he inclined nearer. "And now I'm your problem."

"Such a menace," you whispered.

He angled to you, hesitating for a second before pressing his full lips to yours. He tasted of beer and hot sauce. His facial hair rasped your skin. You melted into the kiss and rested a hand on his thigh. He kissed your mouth open until his tongue could sweep over yours—just like you'd imagined. He held your face in his big palm, unmistakably him.

Some agitated, jumpy feeling that had nestled in your stomach for the past three weeks dissolved like sugar in coffee.

His other hand spanned the small of your back, pulling you near. If you didn't know better, you'd say he wanted you to straddle his lap. Right at the picnic table. In front of everyone and their kids.

You nipped at his bottom lip before soothing the little hurt with a gentle suck.

Flip groaned and broke away.

_"Holy shit,"_ he breathed. "Baby, I missed you so bad."

"I missed you."

"Come home. We'll talk this out."

"I don't think you wanna talk tonight."

"Hell no, I don't." His voice dipped to a whisper to say: "I wanna tear your clothes off and get you on our bed."

"Hey, I just bought these."

"Then I'll take 'em off slow."

"Not too slow, I hope."

The hand on your back inched down to cup your ass.

"No," he agreed. "Not too slow. I wanna see what's under these."

"Only see?"

"No..." He leaned in, nosed under your hair, and kissed your neck. "Gonna push my tongue in your hot pussy, baby."

You shivered and slid your hand closer to his groin. He was probably half-hard already. And all for you. The very thought made you wetter.

You whispered, "You're so good at that."

"Oh, baby, it's all you."

You bit back a whimper at the compliment. "Wanna ride you."

He purred. "Only if you push those tits in my face."

It was easy to imagine doing just that. His hot hands searing their way over your hips and sides to your breasts. He would steady them and suck at your nipples; his feverish, wet mouth leaving a trail of hickeys over your chest.

All the while, you'd be full of his big dick. You'd grip his broad shoulders and rock your hips to take him to the hilt. Your skin would slide over his, too, sweaty in the summer heat. He'd thrust with you, growling encouragements.

You hadn't heard those in three, long weeks.

"Take me home," you sighed. "We'll work it out tomorrow."

He dragged his teeth down your neck and ended the sharp caress with a kiss. You touched his cheek, and he straightened to look into your eyes. A smile spread across his features. His eyes glittered like they hadn't all day.

"Yeah, let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com)


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